Silver Thorn and Bloody Rose
by FritzyM4
Summary: My personal take on how Legolas' mother died, which seems to have been neglected by both Tolkien and fanfiction. Rated T for intense battle sequences and graphic descriptions (coming soon!). All (constructive) reviews welcome - they WILL be read and taken into account by me.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – **_**So It Begins**_

"_Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents…"_

_[Matthew 10:16]_

As a cold sun rose imperceptibly on a winter's morning blanketed by a thick yet gentle snowfall, a keen eye and an even keener luck may have granted one a brief glimpse of an elven contingent threading its way carefully through the dim forests of Mirkwood.

Those who knew a little about elven lore would, upon sighting the troop, discover first that these were wood-elves – indicated by their garb of deep browns and greens, making them difficult to distinguish from the dense screen of leaves and branches surrounding them on all sides – and second, that the ancient forest trail they followed (the Elf Path, to all elves) took them, via a roundabout route, southwest to Lothlórien.

More informed observers would have knowledge of the Elvenking Thranduil, ruler of the Mirkwood realm, and might even have noted his crest worked in metal on the mithril cloak clasps worn by all of the _maethor_, or warrior elves – for this was no mere party of travellers but the Queen of Mirkwood herself with her young son the Crown Prince, accompanied by their honor guard.

These _maethor_ were armed to their teeth, each having a bow and a full quiver of arrows strapped to their back; not surprising, as the woodland realm was renowned for its archers' prowess. Most also had swords or daggers on their person. The Queen herself (who had received _maethor_ training practically since she first learned to walk) favoured twin long-knives with beautifully-sculpted ivory handles: lighter than most swords and thus easier for an _elleth_ to handle without sacrificing any power. Even the little Prince, who was not more than five years of age in terms of human development, was armed with a small dagger in his right boot. None, however, wore armor of any kind beyond leather vambraces around the forearms to protect them from the recoil of the bowstring.

Such armaments were an unfortunate necessity. Dark times had fallen on the wood-elves, darkness that could be physically seen as their forest itself blackened slowly in the face of a relentless tide of evil; evil that had been growing and festering since the arrival of the Necromancer in the dreaded Dol Guldur…whom rumors whispered was the Dark Lord Sauron in disguise... The giant Mirkwood spiders flourished, growing, it seemed, even larger than they had been before; more and more of their nests were found and destroyed near the palace. Scouting missions brought back reports of orc invasions which encroached ever further upon elven domain. Painful as it was to realize, the elves understood that their beloved forest was not safe to roam without protection any longer.

The company travelled, in the way of elves, as silently as the snowflakes that swirled around their heads, but moreover with a distinctly clandestine air about them. On a journey as long as theirs, such furtiveness would serve them well. It was more than six hundred miles from Thranduil's Caverns to Lórien's Calas Galadhon, a distance it would take them the better part of two weeks to cover. More time spent on the road meant more opportunities of attack by spiders, or worse – by orcs. They were already moving as swiftly as was possible with an elfling in tow; while they rode elf-horses, pushing any further would be a cruel strain on their mounts.

So far they had gotten through the Mirkwood Mountain Pass without incident, but they had lost precious time in the process; time they were now trying, desperately, to make up. No more delays could be afforded.

Usually they would have taken the Old Forest Road out of Mirkwood to the Old Ford, where they would have followed the Anduin down to the Golden Wood. Now it was too dangerous to be out in the open, especially at night when orcs roamed at will. The elves kept to the forest, travelling through the thick growth of trees to come out below the treacherous marches of the Gladden Fields, where they would then travel the remainder of their journey along the skirts of the Great River. It was a risk, but a risk that was crucial to avoid passing too near to Dol Guldur. Elves that were taken to that black-towered fortress never returned, vanishing like ghosts in the wind…

Scouts had left shortly before dawn to clear the way for the others and to search the path ahead for any signs of an orc ambush. The breeze brought the lingering smell of charred wood to the elves' nostrils and they shivered in disgust; fire – or the threat of it – was the only thing spiders of the Mirkwood variety feared, and the elven guard were taking no chances with the Royals' safety.

So now the contingent moved more slowly than before, bunched close together, all elves keeping a sharp lookout for the slightest sign of a threat, their horses stamping their hooves and snorting nervously; clouds of mist blasted from their noses and mouths.

The horses' skittishness was easily attributable – this morning the elves would come the closest they would to Dol Guldur, and even being within a hundred miles of the place was considered extremely dangerous. Here, the black trees could hide an army of orcs even from the piercing eyes of elves, an army that could decimate even a battle-hardened troop of experienced warriors, as theirs was. But even death, horrifying as the prospect was at the mercy of such evil creatures, was not the worst thing that could befall one when dealing with orcs. The brutal fate of orc captives was far, far worse… and all elves had heard the terrible stories of what was done to any _elleth_ unfortunate enough to fall into orc claws…

Tension stretched the air to the tearing point, for the scouts should have returned by now – should have, yet had not…

And there was something else floating on the winter air, a something as elusive as the wisps of smoke that only served to heighten the horses' anxiety. A vague sense of the sinister pervaded the forest ahead. The unknown menace was as tangible to elven extrasensory perceptions as a solid sheet of ice blanketing a lake, but as to pinpointing its exact source… none could say. A pall of gloom was cast over the entire company. Terror looked over the shoulder of every elf, as they peered anxiously into the inky snow-blurred darkness before them.

Guiding her milk-white mare carefully around deep snowdrifts and slick patches of black ice, the Queen sat tall in the saddle, her storm-gray gaze sweeping the thick tangle of scrub that lined the forest path, effectively obscuring her view of the mysterious blackness behind. The scouts' prolonged absence was weighing heavily on her mind as well, and she had made up her mind to ask about them at the very next opportunity. Securely perched in front of his mother, the miniature Prince Legolas shifted restlessly as the wind's frozen breath blew playfully at the few strands of white-blond hair framing his thin face. As the elfling, worn out from a week and a half of constant travel, was still resting, she kept one arm wrapped around her son at all times, so that he would not slip off the horse's back in his slumber. The Queen's one comfort was that at least he was unaware of the peril they were in.

Now she reached down to fuss with the cloak that was wrapped around the little _ellon_ like a cocoon, pulling the hood more closely around his face and head, tucking the cloak's edges more snugly around his body, poking a stick-thin arm that had come free back into the nest of warmth. Legolas stirred, squirming away from his mother's cold fingers, and woke to the frigid gloom that surrounded him.

Immediately, the elfling shivered until his teeth chattered, burrowing deeper into his cloak's soft fabric. His mother, thinking her son chilled by the freezing weather (elven babes grew into their immunity once they reached maturity), pulled him closer to her and drew her own cloak around them both. But now she felt that Legolas shook from more than simple cold.

"Why do you tremble so, _tithen las nín_? What troubles you?"

Legolas only shook harder, pressing himself more firmly back against his mother's comforting softness, and buried his face in her riding tunic for a moment. Breathing in her scent he drew courage from it, from the smell like the fresh damp earth after a gentle spring shower…the smell of all things good and familiar…the smell of…home.

Turning his little face up to look at her, his eyebrows pinched in fear and confusion, the elfling replied, "The air… I don't like it, _Nana_, I – don't – like it… It's not – not right. It's too…cold…"

"That is simply because it is winter, _ion nín_ – "

" – No… This isn't the kind of cold that winter makes… There's something else. Something bad that's making it so – so _helkh_…"

_Helkh_… Legolas' mother reflected on his choice of word. Meaning 'bitter cold', _helkh_ was not a phrase elves used lightly, mostly saved for occasions when severe pain, grief, or fear produced the sensation…

A nameless dread settled itself on the Queen's heart and began to squeeze with icy fingers.

"…And the trees here are strange," the child continued. "They do not speak…it's as if they've forgotten how…"

His voice sounded decidedly hurt, his mother thought distractedly. Like all wood-elves, her son felt a deep connection to the earth's growing things, and therefore craved the trees' conversation. She stretched out her senses, leaving her mind as open as she could, and yet she could perceive nothing from these dark trees. But, Legolas did seem to take the elven relationship with nature to a far deeper level than was ordinary…

"…But they're afraid... I can sense it." He drew in a sharp, ragged breath. "_Nana_… I'm so horribly frightened…"

The icy fingers tightened their hold. Had he somehow learned of the danger? "Afraid of what, _penneth_?"

"I don't know… Only – the trees… They know something's going to happen. Soon. Something terrible..."


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (don't worry; I'll keep it brief, I promise!): All your reviews and PMs to me will be addressed here in the author's notes, not via email. To all who reviewed, thank you so much! Thank you all for your continued support!**

**Chapter 2 – **_**The Trap is Set**_

"_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"_

_[Psalm 23:4]_

From the jumble of thoughts crowding her mind emerged words that tumbled out of her suddenly parched mouth before the Queen could check their flow.

"What…is going to…happen?" She dreaded the answer she would receive.

Legolas closed his eyes as if in concentration, and his mother gathered that he was relaying her question to the trees. While not knowing how her son was able to converse with them bothered her, she was not about to question it now. Then Legolas stiffened, and the Queen could see his eyelids fluttering frantically, as if he were caught in the midst of a captivating dream. Every now and again he flinched violently, as if struck by a physical blow…

When his eyes opened again they were grown wide in shock and horror, as if he had just awoken from a ghastly nightmare…

But before he could give voice to what he had seen –

The quick, hard blast of a hunting horn sounded through the forest, and a cry was raised:

"_Yrch_ to the north! In the distance!"

That one phrase, frantically shouted by one of the _maethor_ keeping watch to the Royals' left, said all that Legolas had not had time to say.

Many more horns were blown as the warning passed down the ranks. Eyes wild with fright, the Queen clutched her son to her breast and wheeled her mare around, giving the hasty signal to retreat. Instantly the other elves stopped their mounts dead in their tracks, the horses' hooves churning up snow, and gathered around. The Royal _elleth_ beckoned to the sole handmaiden who had accompanied her on this trip and handed Legolas down to her, kissing her son tenderly on the forehead as she did so. "Watch him for me. And cover his ears… I would not have him hear any of these…unpleasant tidings."

The handmaid bowed and took the Prince's hand, smiling broadly at the little _ellon_ in an attempt to cover her own fear. "Come along, Your Highness. Your _naneth_ needs to discuss business." She led him away, trying to project a sense of calm the entire time, for Legolas' sake. The elfling, however, was neither pacified nor fooled by this feeble deception and clung to her hand fearfully, continually looking back over his shoulder.

The elf who had first sounded the warning galloped straight to the Queen's side. He was the most senior of the elven guard; their captain, in fact. Piercing eyes as green as a spring field revealed age and wisdom belied by the eternal youthfulness of his sharply handsome face. Now, however, the turmoil of concern roiling in their depths belied the calm, efficient exterior of his demeanor as he hailed his Queen crisply.

"My Lady."

The two elves withdrew a stone's throw from the remainder of the group.

"Report, Idhrenion." The state of the Queen's nerves were clearly shown by her lack of formality.

"A small army of orcs approaches, about one hundred in number. My eyes judge them to be not more than twelve miles behind. They will be upon us within the hour."

This puzzled them both for a moment. "Why do they pursue us so openly from such a distance, and give us time to mount a counterattack? Surely an ambush would be far easier…"

"There would be no logical reason – unless…" The _maethor_ pondered briefly before exclaiming, "…Unless – they mean to drive us into one."

"How?"

Idhrenion again considered for a moment, then replied, "The orcs are too great in number for us to easily defeat, yet too few for them to easily subdue us. Besides, in the forest, we have the advantage…" Here he looked pointedly at the trees – orcs were not known for their climbing skills. The warrior elf continued, "I believe – we are yet close to the Anduin, are we not?"

"Yes…but I do not see – "

" – The orcs know they have the lower ground amidst the trees," the Captain broke in, swiftly making a crude, utilitarian sketch in the snow with one of his arrows. "They mean to even the odds. When they charge us now, they will not attack – they will simply drive us before them the fifty or so miles to the Great River, tiring our horses so that they will be useless to mount a counter-charge on our part. Orcs prefer to fight on the ground, and will fare better out in the open in the clearing that lines the riverbank. There, they will be joined by the full force of their army which will be waiting in the trees bordering the clearing. With our back to the water, we will have no hope of retreat. They will surround and slaughter us, every last elf."

The Queen's face had gone white as flour while the _maethor_ had explained the orcs' tactics (all the while gesturing to the sketch), and he waited a moment to allow her to recover from the shock. It was not a long wait, however, as she forced herself to remain strong and asked, in a slightly drier voice than was usual, "What is to be our battle strategy, then?"

Looking her steadily in the eye, the Captain of the Honor Guard answered, "We will do exactly what the orcs expect of us."

"What?! Surely you are not serious!"

"I am. Perfectly. My Lady, if we simply stand our ground, the orcs will not hesitate to draw us into a fight. Once our numbers have dwindled and those remaining have become fatigued by battle, they will call in their bulk army and quickly finish us off. Their victory is assured. We are yet three days' distance from Lórien – an impossibly-gruelling ride at constant full gallop would not put a scout within the Golden Wood before the morrow. And our scouts have not returned." The meaning implicit in the captain's euphemized statement was all too appallingly clear.

Woodenly, the _elleth_ needlessly clarified, "Isolated from our one hope for source of aid…we are lost."

"It will be a massacre in either case."

Queen and captain fell silent. The elves' eyes met – raincloud gray to grim green – keen sorrow sharpening the anguished desolation in their mirrored gazes.

"But, at least two lives may be saved…" The jade of Idhrenion's eyes petrified as he went on, still using the arrow as a pointer, "You will take the Prince and continue onward through Mirkwood, passing just north of Dol Guldur, and head out for the Anduin once you reach its junction with the Celebrant. Once you ford the river, you will be safely in Lórien. If I and my fellow _maethor_ can draw these orcs out toward the Anduin here," he again pointed to the relevant place on his drawing, "you should be far enough downriver when you cross to make it through. Yes, you just might…" his voice trailed off, a hint of a smile playing over his lips as a thin tendril of hope grew up in his heart for the first time since the enemy had been sighted. Then gravity once again clouded his expression. "It will be a hard and perilous journey, but two elves travelling alone should not attract the attention of the Necromancer and his minions. It is a slim chance, and a poor one at that, but the only one we have."

The Queen stared, open-mouthed, at her Captain. "You mean to sacrifice yourselves for me and my son… No!" she burst out, "No! I will not allow it! I – I…cannot – "

"It is not your decision to make, My Lady, with all due respect," Idhrenion cut her tirade short. "We all knew it might come to this. It is our duty…we must perform it."

"But a Queen's first duty is to her people!" the Queen cried desperately. "I cannot just leave you to your fate – and such a cruel one…"

Urgency and frustration now overrode tact and expected courtesy. Idhrenion snapped, "For the Valar's sake, think of your son! Will his fate not be crueler if you stay? Would you force him to watch his mother brutalized, violated and mutilated by the orcs? It is not a sight a child should have to see. It is not a sight any should have to see," he ground out, choking on the words. The _maethor_ abruptly turned away from his Queen so she would not see the scalding hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.

The Captain's own family had been killed in a freak attack – his wife raped, stabbed through the stomach and left to die; their child, presumably a witness, had been murdered likewise. But, although the incident had taken place years ago, the grief was still too near…indeed, would always be too near…

A soft and gentle hand came to rest on Idhrenion's shoulder and he flinched, startled. Green eyes met gray as the warrior turned to come face to face with the Queen.

He was mildly surprised to see that tears (though of compassion) streaked her face as well. "I am so very sorry, Idhrenion," she whispered, sorrow and shame creasing her brow. "I have caused you much pain by my foolishness. I – I know not of what I speak. Forgive me…" Her voice trailed off dejectedly.

The _ellon_ offered a weak smile and blinked his eyes slowly in understanding. "There is nothing for which you need ask my forgiveness, My Lady," he said dismissively. "Besides, you are no fool to suggest that this is not a decision to be made lightly." Slightly embarrassed at having been caught so uncharacteristically vulnerable, he swiped quickly at his eyes.

"Indeed…" The _elleth_ sighed, a sound like the breeze passing through the tree branches at eventide, her gaze turning heavenward. Then she smiled; a sad, yet sweet, smile. "You have said, and said rightly, that this is not my decision to make. So, neither is it yours." At this, Idhrenion dipped his head like a chastened miscreant. The Queen continued, fixing the _maethor_ with a look that he could have sworn saw straight through him, "I would ask only this of you, my brave Captain: that you allow me to lay the situation before all the members of the Guard, just as you have described it to me. It is their noble lives to be sacrificed, and therefore justifiably their choice – only theirs – to make. I will tell them that we will abide by whatever they decide. We can do no more…and no less – except pray for Eru's blessing and protection."

"Aye, My Lady," Idhrenion whispered hoarsely, voice cracking with emotion.

With naught but a brief nod to the Captain of the Honor Guard, the Queen nudged her mare around with the slight pressure of her right foot and trotted swiftly back to the others.

The _maethor_ gazed after her for a few moments, nothing but wonder and admiration in his heart for this _elleth_ who placed so much faith in those who now would hold not only her life, but that of her son as well, in their hands. Urging his horse forward at last, he followed the path she had taken only moments before, albeit more slowly.

Whispers and murmurs rose from the group of assembled elves, to fall silent at their Queen's approach.

Raising her hands above her head, the Queen addressed them and began to speak…


End file.
